


All Tuck'd In

by missjoshemmett



Series: AU Robin of Sherwood [5]
Category: Robin of Sherwood
Genre: Drama, Gen, Mystical, Religion and Spirituality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 07:19:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14827890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missjoshemmett/pseuds/missjoshemmett
Summary: When Alan gives Tuck a precious gift, Tuck remembers his childhood and the spiritual journey that led him first to the Church and then Sherwood.





	All Tuck'd In

FOREWORD

 

I started my own AU _Robin of Sherwood_ series based on the first two seasons of the show. Richard Carpenter started his show in 1199 with Robin at 20 and Marion at 17. The second season ended with King Richard dying and King John ascending the throne. My series started one year later in 1200, with a trilogy in which I killed off one character, Robert de Rainault, added an all new character, a different Alan a Dale, and, for the time being, changed the status of a third character, Sir Guy of Gisburne. A year passed during the events of the trilogy, so my series is now set in 1201, with Robin at 22 and Marion at 19 and everyone else two years older than they were in Carpenter’s ‘The Greatest Enemy’.

The melody for ‘The Ballad of Robin Hood’ is based on the music used in ‘Alan A Dale,’ from the Michael Praed portion of the _Robin of Sherwood_ series, as is the meter of the lyrics. Alan’s ballads are my own.  


DEDICATIONS

 

This story is dedicated to Michael Praed (who still inspires me)  
and all the fans of _Robin of Sherwood_ for keeping the dream alive. 

 

 

 

** PROLOGUE**

 

Alan a Dale had been gone for over a month. He had told the outlaws that he needed to ‘tour the Continent,’ which, of course, caused Will Scarlet to roll his eyes. Much looked confused, so Alan explained that it meant he was going to Normandy and, possibly, Spain or Italy if the court gossip was good. Little John saw no reason to _ever_ leave England. Sir Guy of Gisburne thought moving to Normandy was looking good considering… He looked at Will, who promptly encouraged him to go with a lift of his eyebrow. Nasir, as usual, said nothing and smirked at his companions. Friar Tuck looked contemplative for a moment, then caught himself and smiled. Marion thought it quite romantic and wished she could accompany him. That caused Robin i’ the Hood to frown at his wife and suck in his lower lip more than once. Alan picked up his bag and lute, turned to Tuck for a blessing, managed to cross himself and then disappeared into the forest.

 

>\------------->

 

An AU story based on the characters in _Robin of Sherwood_. 

 

 

**ALL TUCK’D IN**

 

Fatigue had brought the merry band of outlaws, who were not really feeling ‘merry’ at the moment, to the old stomping grounds by their lake. They had taken to calling it _their_ lake, as the land around it was formerly the village of Loxley, Robin’s home, and so much had taken place there in the past three years.

They had set up camp carefully as they planned to stay a week, and Guy had propped himself up against the Gisburne tree, halfway between the fire he and Tuck had started and their lake, when the sound of horse’s hooves brought them all to attention.

Around the far side of the lake, away from the main overgrowth of forest vegetation, Alan rode into sight. Everyone relaxed but Will, “So much for a nice quiet rest!” he mumbled frowning.

“Ah!” Alan sat astride the horse and broke into his big smile. “Herne was right, as usual, and here you all are!” He seemed rather proud of himself as he glanced around holding a sack in his left arm and the reins of his horse in his right hand. He lifted his right leg over the neck of the horse and slid fairly gently to the ground. Grabbing the bridle, he walked the rest of the way, pausing long enough to hand the horse to Guy. “Take a good ride later, before you give it to the villagers, brother.” Guy scowled outwardly, though he lit up inside at the prospect of grooming and riding this magnificent beast.

Alan lifted the lute from the back of the saddle and slung it over his shoulder, then pulled off his sack and walked to his favourite protruding tree root placing both behind it. Much was at his side in an instant. “What did you bring me?”

Will, who was sitting on a small exposed root with his legs drawn up, rolled his eyes and dramatically dropped his head between his knees. Everyone else pointedly ignored him and tried to keep from laughing aloud at Much’s wide eyes and eager face.

Alan, with a grand gesture, untied the sack that was still under his left arm, reached inside and pulled out a small tin flute, brandishing it about for all to see before handing it the young man. Much’s eyes widened at the treasure and he turned, running off to play it. He had once seen one just like it in town and was thrilled that Alan had remembered. He found it far more fascinating than the hand-carved wooden one he usually played. “Everyone in the forest has one of those!” he had said at the market.

Marion put on her motherly face and admonished the young man. “Much! What do you say to Alan?”

Much was brought up short in mid-run. He looked at her questioningly and then his eyebrows shot up as he understood the question. Turning to Alan, he spoke in very serious tone. “Thank you, Alan. I mean, brother. Um, Alan. Well…”

Alan put his hand up to stop Much. “Just a thank you will do.” Then he took one of his deep flourishing bows. “It was nothing.” He turned his head to Marion and winked as Much whirled around and took off again.

Robin frowned and bit the side of his mouth. _I wish Alan would stop pretending to flirt with Marion._

Alan walked over to the fire and greeted his good friend, Tuck, by reaching into the sack and pulling out a goatskin bag. It wasn’t like a wineskin. It was oblong and fastened with a leather tie. Opening it, Alan pulled out a small dripping bundle of cloth. Tuck reached out his chubby hands, and Alan plopped the bundle of cloth into them. Little John and Will stood up and approached Tuck just as Tuck began opening one layer and then another. A faint odour arose and Tuck broke into a wide smile. Robin joined Will and Little John to see what was going on. They wrinkled their noses and backed away. But the odour had brought Nasir to his feet, and he and Marion eagerly joined Tuck. Guy, watching the proceedings, left the horse behind, saddle already on the ground, and eagerly rushed over to see if it was indeed what he thought it was, brushing against Robin’s sleeve.

Tuck closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. He tilted his head back a little and let out a soft “Ahhhhh.”

Much had stopped tootling on the flute and made a horrid face. “What _is_ that?”

Looking as if they had all been hypnotized, Tuck, Marion, Guy, and even Nasir, said in one wondrous, soft voice, “cheese from Gruyères.” Then, breathing in the odour again, they let out a collective sigh. When was the last time _any_ of them had tasted the Swiss cheese, Gruière? And, again, as one, they all silently answered that unspoken question – _Forever_ – never once taking their eyes off of the smelly, ugly lump in Tuck’s hands.

Robin, Little John, Much and Will were looking at them as if they had all gone completely mad. John opened his mouth to speak when Alan turned to him, handing him a goatskin of French wine. John’s mouth snapped shut and his eyes lit up. He held up the goatskin like an idol. He turned and wandered off aimlessly with Will hot on his heels. Robin and Much still stared at the rest of them. Finally, making another horrible face, Much turned and ran away to play his flute.

Robin turned in anger to face Alan, who was now pulling out another cloth bundle. Again, unwrapping two layers, Alan produced a long thin loaf. “French bread, Robin?” In answer, Marion reached out blindly with her small delicate hand and wrapped it around the loaf. After snatching the loaf from Alan’s hands, she clutched it between her breasts as if it were a long lost lover.

Robin’s face fell. _How does he always know when I am about to yell at him?_ Shaking his head, he turned on his heel and went after the wine. He felt he needed a good long drink!

Suddenly, Tuck came to himself and glanced after Robin and the others retreating into the forest, a safe distance away from the smell, and looked as if he were about to burst into tears. Alan stepped sideways into Tuck’s line of sight and brandished a _second_ goatskin of wine. “I rode hard from the sea for three days to get here before it all spoiled or grew stale. I stopped at every bit of water I saw and dumped out the waterskin to put in fresh cool water.” Alan broke into his huge grin and bowed with another flourish. He turned and walked to the branch to put the sack with his other belongings.

“TOO LATE!” echoed Will’s disembodied voice. Will had obviously been thinking of the cheesy smell.

Alan laughed quietly and returned to the fire just in time to lower himself to the ground as Robin, John, Much and Will returned, their eyes still on the cheese from Gruière, while Marion continued to hug the bread. They shook their heads and walked out of the camp.

When it was safe to return, the cheese from Gruière and the odour both happily gone, Robin, John, Much and Will spent the rest of that Saturday evening around the fire, listening to some of Alan’s adventures. Then everyone dropped off to a peaceful sleep, except for Will, who kept waking up as his dreams contained the very real smell of that awful cheese.

 

>\------------->

 

Just before dawn on Sunday morning, Tuck rose and headed for the edge of the lake with a small piece of cloth, neatly folded, and a bowl with a small amount of wine, which he set in front of him. He bowed his head for a moment in silent prayer. Then he heard Marion, Guy and Alan come up behind him. Friar Tuck was ready to give his weekly service. They crossed themselves as he spoke to the sky across the water. His back was to the trio standing behind him. Their eyes were on the cap on Tuck’s head, and they were thinking of the bald spot underneath. The errant priest began with the words to the Mass he knew by heart. The ‘congregation’ crossed themselves and knelt, murmuring the odd ‘Amen’ in unison. By the time Tuck had finished performing Mass, the sun was peeking over the horizon and the sky was red. He bent over and picked up the cloth, carefully opening it in his hand. He held it up to the sky and spoke again in Latin, placing a morsel of bread on his tongue. Bending over once again, he placed the cloth on the ground and picked up the bowl. Standing up straight, he held it up to the sky and repeated most of what he had just said, with a slight variation, and took a sip. Finally, he picked up the cloth and turned to his followers, handing the cup to Alan. Friar Tuck picked up a morsel of bread from the cloth and placed it on Alan’s tongue. Alan took a sip of wine from the cup and passed it to Marion, making the sign of the cross and bowing his head. The same was done with Marion and Guy.

Friar Tuck then turned back to the lake and, in an unorthodox move, cast the remaining bread and wine into the water saying, “Blessed Be.” As a priest living with pagans, he had decided to vary his Mass with an offering of the Body and Blood to the fowl and fish. It was a personal nod to Herne and the creatures of Sherwood Forest. When he had finished giving a blessing to all the woodland creatures, with an “Amen” from his followers, he turned back to his congregation. The sun had started to shine and was illuminating him in an odd way as they all proceeded to sit down. It was time for the good friar to begin his Sunday sermon. If it all seemed a bit disjointed, out of order and truly unorthodox, no one seemed to care. One learned to adapt in Sherwood Forest.

Before Tuck could speak, Alan reached behind him and produced a small leather bundle tied with a string. He handed it to Tuck. The friar’s eyes widened in surprise at this break in his new tradition and he stared at the object.

“Go on. Open it,” Alan said softly.

Tuck pulled at the bow and the string fell into his ample lap. He opened the square of leather to discover…a book! His eyes grew even wider, for Tuck, being a lowly friar, had only caught glimpses of the real Latin Vulgate, and that was much too large for anyone to own and carry about.

Alan broke into his wide grin and said in a hushed tone, appropriate for the momentous occasion, “It is the _Paris_ Bible, Brother.”

Tuck could hardly believe what he saw. Guy and Marion glanced at each other in amazement and then looked back at the book. Marion’s mouth dropped open and she covered it with her hand. She turned her large round eyes from the book to Alan. She really wanted to hug him, but realized that would break the spell completely. Guy just sat and slowly shook his head in disbelief. Even _he_ had heard of the Paris Bible, although he had never actually seen one.

Tuck flipped open the Paris Bible and began to read in Latin. However, Alan heard a slight rustling sound behind them. He cleared his throat and said, “Friar Tuck? _English_ , please. _Everyone_ wishes to hear the words!”

Tuck’s head flew up and he saw that the rest of the outlaws had joined them, standing and staring. They didn’t know that Guy and Alan could understand Latin. He blushed and nodded his head. “Of course, of course.” He looked at Marion, as everyone knew she spoke Latin. Then he looked back down and read the passage that the book had opened on. “…the dead in Christ shall rise first: Then _we_ which are alive and remain shall be caught up _together_ with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord.”

By now, all of them were sitting, or squatting, on the ground and listening. Little John rubbed his beard and pulled his brows together, while Will scowled and mumbled, “It’s all mumbo jumbo.”

Alan turned his body and scowled back at Will. Then he adopted the storytelling pose they knew all too well and commenced. “In the eighth century, Charlemagne ordered all the gospels, letters and testaments written in various languages, like Coptic, Syriac and even Greek, to be translated into one language, Latin. This was the Latin Vulgate translation or the Alcuin Bible. The first Latin translation of the Bible was in the fourth century, and it has been the standard for _all_ Bibles for hundreds of years. Even an English monk created the Lindisfarne Gospels from it five hundred years ago.”

Robin, Will, Little John and Much fell into a transfixed state, as they usually did when Alan started using _that_ voice. Nasir had a slight smile on his face, for, even as a Saracen, he knew this story well, but, glancing at the friar, he kept silent. Guy and Marion also knew the stories of the Bible and looked at the rest of the outlaws in slight amusement, while Friar Tuck nodded his head up and down at every word. He had closed the Bible and was holding it to his chest with his arms crossed over it tightly, as if it would just suddenly disappear. Alan continued:

“ _Then_ around 960, an English translation was included _in_ the Vulgate Bible, so that people could teach it to their children. Before that they did what was done for centuries before. They told all the stories orally, just like me!”

Alan broke into a smile, which quickly disappeared when he saw that he was about to lose his audience.

“ _At any rate_ , whilst I was in Paris, I discovered that certain Dominican and Franciscan monks in Paris and Bologne are in discussions to copy a _complete_ Bible in Latin that could fit into a _pocket_! They are currently putting all the books in order and adding chapters to make it easier to read. It will take _months_ to copy everything and bind just _one_ Bible. Well, _I_ have a friend in Paris who was able to get one of the copies that they have been practicing on, so I commissioned a copy to be made of the copy while I was traveling. When I returned, I had it bound in leather for Tuck. When it’s completed, the _Paris_ Bible will be the _first_ Bible bound as a portable book! _VIVE LA FRANCE_!” And Alan broke into a big smile as everyone else jumped at the sudden loud proclamation.

He looked about at his entire audience with evident satisfaction. _Always end with a flourish!_ he thought.

His startled audience settled back down and were beginning to frown at him in complete disbelief, including Nasir, who _knew_ Alan was right about most of it. Then Marion suddenly stood up and rushed over to Tuck. All heads turned to see the friar, still clutching the Bible with tears running down his face.

Letting go of the book with one arm, and placing his hand on his back to stand up, he brushed past Marion and strode through all of them, straight to the fire. Sitting back down, he held the Paris Bible up to Albion, across the flame. “See? See what I have? What do you think of _that_?” At just that moment, the rays of the now yellow rising sun hit the sword, and the blade seemed to dance in the glow. “Herne approves.” Then, Friar Tuck settled down with the Bible in his lap and stroked it while staring at Albion.

The rest of the band were all standing now and staring in disbelief at the friar’s actions.

“I think we need to leave him be,” Robin said and chewed the side of his mouth. The others nodded and Will said, “Well, it _is_ Sunday.” For, unless they were all being chased, Sunday was Tuck’s day of rest. He had followed them and taken part in all of their pagan ceremonies with nary a word, so they felt they should do the same for him. Well…and Marion. So, each went off to find a comfortable place to while away the day until supper, except for Nasir. He went over to a pile of furs and cloths and started sorting out pieces of leather. Then, gathering them up, he went to his favourite tree and squatted down, busying himself with them. Guy, of course, sat against the Gisburne tree or took a ride. And, in this way, the day passed.

They had a hardy meal, minus the smell of the cheese, and listened to a story from the Paris Bible. Tuck, of course, had told most of these tales to the men before, but it all seemed new when being read from an actual book. Tuck had asked Will what he wanted to hear, and Will immediately asked if the ‘large _fish_ story’ was in there. Then he looked at John with a wicked smile. Robin nudged Marion and soon everyone, including Guy, who had joined them at the fire for the reading, was laughing. It had been a good day. Of course, the story of Jonah was there and Tuck read it aloud. Someone living in the belly of a large fish was always fascinating to Much and there it _was_ , right in the _book_ , written just as Tuck used to tell it. The outlaws began to believe that these strange stories just might be true. They were in a _book_. After Tuck finished reading from the Bible, they all spread out to sleep in their favourite spots, Marion with her head on Robin’s shoulder, which she claimed was her favourite spot.

Alan watched Tuck from his root. Normally, he would have strummed on the lute for awhile, but his mind was racing. He kept thinking back to the page and verses the Bible had fallen open to, randomly. But _was_ it random? He had always asked if there were an ending to Robin’s “Together we…” and now realized that there wasn’t. How had Robin come upon this phrase? Had he got it from Herne? Alan was well aware of the meaning of the passage Tuck had read aloud.

The words that provided comfort to the grieving heart were _together_ and _we_. These words of reunion indicated that followers of Christ didn’t ever have to experience permanent separation. For them, death was not a goodbye; it was an “I’ll see you later.” And Robin had used these words to talk about all the people of Sherwood who had died fighting the unfair laws of King Richard and, now, King John.

Still sitting at the fire, staring at the flames dancing on Albion’s blade and running his forefinger up and down the soft leather binding of the Paris Bible, Friar Tuck slipped off into his own thoughts.

 

>\------------->

 

Toby and Edonea played together as children in their small farming village. Although Toby often had trouble keeping up with the other children, due his club foot, he was very talented with his hands, carving wood and building. When all the boys had to learn to shoot the bow and arrow at age seven, Toby was deemed quite good. However, he was basically ignored by the soldier who was sent to the villages to teach the youngsters. Toby would never be deemed good enough to fight alongside the future King Richard.

Their parents were not surprised when Toby and Edonea, as young adults, announced that they wanted to be wed. The two happy families set out for the nearby church for the nuptials. The young couple held hands as they stood on the front steps when Father Alban read the vows. Later, back home, the whole village danced and ate and showered the couple with blessings.

Toby worked in the fields and Edonea fussed about the small cottage that Toby had built for them. She enjoyed helping her friends with their children, but sadness would creep across her mind at night. Toby would hold her as they lay in bed and, sometimes, both would shed a tear. “But,” Edonea would tell her mother, “nothing could really ruin what we have. Even if we _never_ have a child.”

Toby took to offering sacrifices to the Sherwood Forest gods, even though he and Edonea would attend services together on Sunday at the church. He never told anyone that he often asked Herne the Hunter to send him a fine young son and had the occasional eerie feeling that he was going to pay for it someday, but he was desperate to make his beautiful wife happy. So, he was not surprised when Edonea told him she was with child. Toby put away his doubts and forgot about his indiscretions, only to be reminded again and again during the years that followed.

Edonea grew and grew. The last month of her term, she was forced to stay in bed. Finally, the pains came and it was a hard labor. Toby stood outside the cottage listening to the screams of his wife as her mother and the midwife tended to her. They were not big people in stature or size, so, when the 12 pound baby finally emerged, everyone was surprised that Edonea did not bleed more than usual and that she was quite healthy within two days.

They christened the boy Tuck. His eyes opened as soon as he exited the womb. He had a very round head and body and sausage-like fingers and toes. And, oh, how he loved to laugh! And _eat_! Within a month, they were augmenting Edonea’s breast milk with goat’s milk. By the time Tuck was a year old, he was so big he couldn’t even crawl. He would sit on his backside and push with his chubby little legs to scoot around. One day, the very determined little boy nearly pulled his mother over on top of him, when he grabbed her skirt and pulled himself upright. Edonea caught herself and, when she had fully regained her balance, reached down and grabbed one of Tuck’s hands. By the time Toby came home from the fields, he was surprised to see his son waddle straight over to him, wobble a bit and fall on his father’s feet.

“You had best learn to walk, Tuck, else you will break your father’s toes!” Toby said. And all three laughed.

When Tuck was 3 years old, he was happily playing with other children. It took a couple of tries at first but, as all children do, they accepted that they had a very large friend! And Edonea found herself with child again. They happily accepted a very normal-sized little girl and christened her, Thecla. Tuck was overjoyed and played very tenderly with his little sister.

When Thecla was one year old, she caught a fever and died within a week. At first, Tuck just couldn’t understand why his sister was gone. Inside his four-year-old brain, he blamed himself. Then he brightened up one day, patted his mother’s shoulder and told his parents that everything was going to be all right. “Thecla is happy where she is,” he said. His parents looked at him strangely, but Tuck was so solemn and nodded his head so vigorously, that they felt better themselves. Toby felt the darkness slip though his mind, but pushed it away. Tuck never forgot Thecla and on certain days of the year, for the rest of his life, he would feel an empty hole in his heart.

As the years passed, Toby and Edonea had two miscarriages. After the second one, the midwife spoke in hushed tones with Edonea’s mother. They agreed that this all had become too much for the little family. They went to the cottage one day and told Edonea that she needed to be looked at ‘down there.’ While Edonea’s mother held her hand, the mid-wife made sure that the Tuck’s mother would never have another child. It didn’t take long for Toby and Edonea to realize what the midwife had done. They were angry at first, but then comforted each other one night, saying that “it was for the best.” As Edonea fell asleep in Toby’s arms, it was the second time ‘the darkness’ passed through in his mind, that praying to the pagan gods was not the best idea.

 

>\------------->

 

Tuck was not the best at all sports. He learned to shoot a bow and arrow at seven. He was horrible at it. “His arms are just not right,” a childhood friend of Toby’s, who had gone and returned from the first Crusade, now living back in the village, said to Tuck’s parents. Tuck sat to one side watching the other boys. He picked up a large stick and started waving it around in the air to pass the time. The retired soldier and self-appointed teacher noticed that the stick was practically flying in the fat boy’s fingers. He walked over to Tuck and told him to get up. While Tuck was clambering to his feet, the man looked around and spotted a good-sized branch. Pulling the smaller branches and leaves off, he handed it to Tuck. “Start practicing with this!” the man said and he showed Tuck a couple of twirling moves. When the teacher called the boys together for their archery lessons the next day, he brought his staff with him. As the other boys fired at their targets, the man worked with Tuck. Soon, the young lad had become quite good with the quarterstaff. Toby was thrilled. Both his young age and his club foot had prevented him from fighting in the last crusade, but perhaps there was a chance for his son. On the way through the forest from the fields that night, Toby spotted a nice round branch. That evening, he cut and scraped at it and, soon, it looked as good as the teacher’s, although it was much shorter. As Toby worked, the darkness passed through his mind, but he shoved it away. He ended up smiling as proudly at his son during the village games as the other fathers. Also, by switching the bow and arrow for the staff, the man had taught all the boys a lesson. They learned to deal with Tuck, and his sometimes clumsy manner, and Tuck learned that if something didn’t work one way, he should try another.

Toby asked Edonea one day if she ever noticed a peculiar quirk that Tuck had always displayed at odd times. “Tuck has a way of stopping short for just a moment. His eyes widen and he cocks his head just a bit, as if he is listening to someone. Then he just continues what he is doing.”

Edonea nodded her head. “Indeed, I have noticed, but it happens so seldom that I have never mentioned it, as I thought it had to do with his size. Poor little Tuck needs to stop more than the others to catch his breath. It is that and nothing more, I am quite sure.”

“Little?”

“He will always be my little babe.”

Toby laughed aloud. “Tuck was not _little_ even as a babe, woman!” Edonea shrugged her slight shoulders and made a funny little pained face before joining her husband in laughter.

“And he has that same face _you_ do, my dear heart, when he is a bit puzzled!” Toby continued and they laughed even harder.

Tuck, sitting a bit away from the hut, smiled as he heard his parents’ laughter. It didn’t happen often, but, when it did happen, Tuck felt great love for them both.

 

>\------------->

 

When Tuck was 14 years old, he was not too much taller, but he was a little rounder. No one ever teased him about it. _This is a good village, indeed_ , Toby thought as he headed for work and the boys for the river.

By midmorning, the boys were all splashing in the water when they heard what sounded like screams from the direction of their homes. Jumping to the grassy edge, they hastily pulled on their clothing and started running for the village. Tuck was a bit behind, as usual, and tripped over a fallen branch. Usually, the boys would turn back to help Tuck, but this time they kept running. Tuck pushed his body up with his hands and got to his knees. From this position, he was able to clamber to his feet. He started to run and promptly fell over another branch. As he started through the same motions, he noticed a silence in the air. As he reached his feet, he heard the distinct sound of hooves coming his way.

_Run to the side!_

Without questioning the voice in his head, he turned and ran into the trees. A few feet into the forest, he caught his foot on the bracken and went head first onto the ground.

_Stay still!_

Tuck lay there, breathing heavily. The hooves pounded behind him and passed by on the trail he had just left. Cracking sounds let him know that the horses had easily broken the very branches he had just fallen over. As the sound of the hooves faded toward the river, Tuck turned over and sat up. Hearing nothing, he got to his feet and walked back to the trail. Then he turned and ran toward the village as the screams reached his ears once more. He stopped at the edge of the clearing. Bodies were lying on the ground and the huts were on fire. Tuck immediately turned and ran to his home. The door was torn off and his mother was lying on the floor. Flames were eating away the walls and roof of the cottage.

Edonea looked up and saw her son outside. She raised her hand to wave him away, but nothing could stop the pudgy adolescent. Running inside, he pulled the burning beam off her legs and scooped her up like a twig. Outside, he put her down and looked around. He saw others trapped in the huts and a few of his friends frozen in horror. Others were on the ground, bleeding.

_Now!_

For just a moment, Tuck’s head tilted slightly to one side and he drew his brows together. Then his round eyes flew open and he heard himself yell, “Hurry! Get inside before it is too late!”

As the thieves rode out of the village, all the boys who had not been cut down began running into the burning huts to pull out crying children and their mothers.

In a very short time, all the huts collapsed and the living were left surrounded by smoldering ashes as the men rushed into the village from the fields.

Tuck went back to his mother’s side. Her legs and feet were burned and her tears made tracks in the soot on her cheeks. Tuck dropped down beside her and pulled her head to his chest, cradling her in his arms and crying as Toby rushed over to join them.

 

>\------------->

 

When the men of Tuck’s village reached the church with their wounded later that afternoon, Father Alban hurried out. The church was surrounded by a more recent and more fortified village on the edge of the river. Villagers from this second village joined the priest and helped with the injured people from the older village.

Toby and Tuck helped Edonea into the church, where she was placed along the wall with other wounded parishioners. Edonea’s legs and feet were badly burned. Father Alban did the best he could to help her. He had a fondness for the young lad and felt Tuck’s pain as he tended to his mother. Edonea lasted a fortnight and then died. Again, the darkness passed through Toby, but he had Tuck to care for. Tuck wept bitterly and spent much time with Father Alban.

The men of the older village made homes in the newer village and went back to farming. Forest vegetation soon overtook Tuck’s old home. Tuck, started helping out in the church, and it wasn’t long before he felt that he had two fathers in the place of one mother and one father. Toby didn’t mind at all. A year later, Tuck’s father developed a strange illness and died, following his wife and daughter to the grave.

When Tuck was 16, he knew he wanted to be a priest. Father Alban taught the boy all he knew. He, too, had been orphaned and raised in a church. He felt it was his fate as his parents had named him after the English martyr, Alban. Now, he was raising a son he thought he would never have and that son was going to study to be a priest, too.

Soon after his 17th birthday, Tuck was sent off to study at an abbey run by Abbot Letholdus (who was named after the first knight over the walls of Jerusalem in the First Crusade). He and Father Alban had become fast friends during their studies and had kept in touch all these years, even though they held different stations in life. The priests rolled their eyes when they beheld Father Alban’s beloved Tuck as he was one fat young man. However, they were greatly surprised at the speed with which he learned the lessons.

Father Alban had taught Tuck to cook, read, write and tend to the ill. The young man could certainly eat, but he could do a great many other things that showed that he was suited for the Church. Tuck followed every priest and acolyte around, learning everything he could. Abbot Letholdus was a bit worried about making him a priest, but he would often find Tuck kneeling and praying by himself. He even caught Tuck sneaking into his office to look at the huge Bible. Tuck’s devotion was impeccable, so he was ordained a priest.

After Brother Tuck had finished his first Mass, they all agreed that, despite some clumsiness on the young man’s part with day-to-day work, he was very deft at handling all the sacred sacraments around the altar. But they did wonder if any church would accept the rotund man as the head of their parish. So, they had many debates about what to do with Tuck.

Abbot Letholdus was heaving a sigh over another whining missive from Abbot Hugo of St. Mary’s Abbey. The man was rich and lazy and only held his position because his late father had purchased it for him. His brother, Robert, was the Sheriff of Nottingham. The de Rainaults were not the most loved people in Sherwood Forest.

Now, it seemed that Hugo had been saddled with Sir Richard of Leaford’s daughter, Marion, while the knight was off on crusade. Marion was young and headstrong, and Abbot Hugo had decided that she needed a tutor and companion, preferably a chaste priest. As Abbot Letholdus walked through the garden, his favourite place to pray and to think, he glanced up and saw Brother Tuck working with the bees. A sly smile spread across Letholdus’ face.

 

>\------------->

 

Friar Tuck reached the village church just after noon. He happily greeted old friends and turned to the dormitory at the side of the church. Father Alban’s little room was very neat and sparse with a fire burning in the middle of the day. Tuck was surprised to find Father Alban abed. Tuck crossed to him quickly, dropping his things on the floor. “Father? It is Tuck. Are you ill?”

The old man opened his eyes and turned his head vaguely to see the round figure he knew so well. “A bit past that, my son.”

Tuck looked down at the priest lying on his bed, holding a cross against his chest. He was ashen and still.

“Oh, Father! I _knew_ I had to come and see you! I will do what I can. The Abbot Hugo can wait.”

“Not for long, my son, not for long.” Father Alban turned his head back and looked at the ceiling. “It is my time.”

Tuck knew better than to argue. He sat on the floor and prayed with the old priest for a long time. Finally, he rose and prodded the fire back to life. Looking in the iron pot, he found a fine stew. Tuck heated the meal up and took a plate to Father Alban. He succeeded in getting the priest to take a few bites, while he prattled on about how he had learned so many things at the abbey and how he had done so many things that might be useful to others. He especially liked working in the kitchen. He was happy to see that this last remark brought a smile to the old man’s face. “So, do you know of Abbot Hugo, Father?”

Father Alban waved away more food from Tuck. “Indeed. I have heard many things. Not all good, but I have never met the man and you know how people love to prattle. However, I do know that St. Mary’s is Sir Richard of Leaford’s church. Sir Richard is a fine man, a great soldier, a friend of the King, himself! He lost his wife in childbirth and was left with a girl. Perhaps you can become her confessor. That way, you might be asked to return to Leaford when the crusade is over.”

Tuck had never thought of being anyone’s confessor, never mind a young girl. He had taken priestly vows and could hear confession and absolve sins, but he never thought to practice these duties.

He put the leftover stew on another plate and added a bit more to it. Then he got a spoon and went to sit next to the priest. “Well, Father, as it turns out, Abbot Letholdus has sent me to be Lady Marion’s tutor and companion. Perhaps what you suggested may come to pass.” Then Tuck realized that he had been so busy eating and talking that he hadn’t noticed that Father Alban was in distress.

Upon hearing the small dry cough, he placed the plate on the little table at Father Alban’s head. Then he poured out some water from a jug that was also on the table. Lifting Father Alban’s head, he watched as the old man drank. Finally, Father Alban stopped drinking, closed his eyes and smiled. Settling Father Alban’s head back on the small flat pillow, Tuck set the cup down and sat next to the bed, shoveling the stew into his mouth. Tuck cleaned the plate in a trice and reached for the water jug, finding that it was nearly empty. That was when he noticed that the priest had turned his head to watch him.

“Some things never change, my son,” the old priest chortled. Tuck just sighed and nodded his head with a sorrowful look. “You must practice looking more humble, Tuck.”

They both laughed and Tuck stood up. Picking up the plates, Tuck stepped through the outside door. There he found a small dog looking at him with pleading eyes. “Oh, my. I have left almost nothing for you, have I?”

As the little dog licked the last of the meals off of the plates, Tuck looked up to see an old woman he vaguely remembered. She made two fists of her hands and placed them on her hips. “You do not cut the figure of a holy man, Brother Tuck!”

Tuck dropped his head to his chest, displaying his chins.

The old woman laughed and patted her thigh to call the dog. “As a matter of fact, you have hardly changed a bit!”

Tuck raised his head and smiled, waving one of the plates in the direction of his head. “My hair is cut!”

“It suits you.”

“Thank you.”

“Makes you look thinner.”

Tuck dropped his head again as the old woman laughed and continued. “I see Father Alban is in good hands, as I thought when I saw you enter his cell.” Then her voice dropped to a sad tone. “He shall need you this night, young Tuck.”

Tuck looked up as she turned and walked away. He had started heading for the stream when he stopped himself short. “Thank you for caring for him and…BLESS YOU, MY CHILD!” He had almost missed his first official blessing outside of the abbey. He heard the old woman laughing as the little dog frolicked beside her. Sighing, Tuck continued to the stream and washed off the plates. Then, rolling his eyes, he hurried back to the cell and picked up the jug. He had almost forgotten the water.

A little later, Tuck spread a blanket on the floor next to Father Alban’s bed and lay down. He dropped off to sleep quickly, snoring slightly.

_Tell him now._

At first, Father Alban was confused. A voice? From where? Tuck? No. Tuck’s _voice_! The voice that Tuck had claimed to hear was real!

Tuck felt something hit his stomach. Opening his eyes, he reached out and found the priest’s hand. Sitting up quickly, he looked at Father Alban.

“Tuck?”

“I am here, Father.”

“Your father, Toby, told me this one day as we walked through the forest. He said that there was no child for two years.”

“I know, Father. Please rest.”

“ _Listen_ , Tuck! He said he could live without a child as long as he had your mother. But poor Edonea wanted a child so badly, that Toby offered sacrifices to Herne the Hunter. He knew it was wrong. He had been taught by his parents and by the Church. He was ashamed and never wanted anyone to know. But I think _you_ must know that, as good as you are, and you are _very_ good, my son, you are still a part of Sherwood Forest. It will call you home someday. It will _need_ you. You became a priest for this _very_ purpose. And, someday, the forest will tell you for what purpose. Until then, God and Herne be with you.”

“Purpose? Sherwood Forest? _Herne_? Whatever do you mean, Father?”

But there was no answer. Father Alban had closed his eyes and his breathing had become shallow. Tuck picked up a rush and stuck it in the glowing embers. Lighting the small candle on the table, he lifted up Father Alban’s stole and put it around his neck. Then he picked up the holy oil and, tears running down his chubby cheeks, administered the last rites to his dearest friend.

 

>\------------->

 

Brother Tuck’s eyes turned into big round saucers when he saw St. Mary’s Abbey. It was one of the finest buildings he had ever seen. And he would be serving there! Tuck was conducted into a large hall where the Abbot Hugo held court from an ornate chair on a dais. The chair looked every bit to Tuck the way he thought a throne would look. _Oh, my_.

Oh, my, indeed. Abbot Hugo was in a rage. He was pacing about, spilling wine from a huge jewel-encrusted golden goblet, yelling at the top of his lungs. “MY BROTHER IS AN IDIOT! AN ABSOLUTE IDIOT!”

Just then, he caught sight of the fat priest. “WHAT DO _YOU_ WANT?”

Poor Tuck’s eyes went round, his mouth opened, and nothing came out.

“WELL? WELL? ARE YOU MUTE, YOU CRETIN? SPEAK UP? WHO SENT YOU? WHAT AM I TO BE TORTURED WITH NOW?”

The guard prodded Tuck forward. Tuck closed his mouth, swallowed hard and, taking a deep breath, whispered hurriedly. “Abbot Letholdus sent me to tutor a young lady by the name of Marion, my lord Abbot.”

“WHAT?”

Taking pity on the young priest, the guard stepped up and announced, “Friar Tuck from Abbot Letholdus to tutor the Lady Marion, my lord Abbot.”

Abbot Hugo’s face fell. He gathered himself together and hurried up to the chair. He handed an attendant the goblet and smoothed his rich garments. Turning, he sat down and composed his face. “That will be all, guard. You may return to your post.”

The guard bowed and left the room as Abbot Hugo waved Tuck forward. Tuck moved as quickly as he could, putting his bags down at the foot of the dais. Climbing the stairs, he knelt down and kissed the Abbot’s proffered ring. Tuck was trying to think of something to say, when Abbot Hugo cleared his throat rather loudly. Tuck looked up to see a disdainful look and the Abbot waving his hand dismissively.

Young Tuck rose as quickly as he could and backed up. He had completely forgotten the stairs. He stumbled down them backward and ended up on his backside. Glancing up at Abbot Hugo, Tuck looked like he was about to cry.

“Lord above! What manner of priest are _you_?”

Tuck rolled over on his knees and stood up, his rear end facing the Abbot, who immediately rolled his eyes. “Brother Tuck, your grace.” Too late, Tuck realized he was facing the wrong way. Quickly turning around, he almost lost his balance again. Poor Tuck was in a dither, indeed.

“GO AWAY!” Abbot Hugo bellowed and Tuck turned and ran as quickly as his legs could carry him, leaving all his belongings behind. He pushed the doors open and slipped out of the hall, leaning against the doors once they were closed.

He could hear two things and did not know which was worse: the bellowing Abbot or the girlish giggle. Looking up, he found a young lady with long curly red hair and a hand over her mouth. But it was no good. She bent double, with her other hand on her knees, and laughed, until even Tuck had to join her.

Standing up, still giggling, she grabbed Tuck’s arm, slipping hers through it. “I _do_ hope you are my tutor. I am Marion. Lady Marion.”

Suddenly, Tuck remembered his belongings. “Oh dear, I’ve left my things behind.”

He tried to turn, but the young girl stopped him and dragged him along the corridor. “With any luck, he will trip over them later. Now, if we keep walking, I can show you where you are to stay and send a guard to get your things. If we are quiet for a day or so, he will forget you completely, and you will be able to stay. It is nice to have a friend.”

Tuck wasn’t sure what was happening, but he decided to trust the young lady and kept walking.

 

>\------------->

 

Two days later, while helping Marion with her bees, Brother Tuck looked up to see the Abbot walking toward them.

Wrinkling his nose, Abbot Hugo asked, “Who are you?”

“The bees! Look out for the bees, my lord Abbot!” cried Marion. Abbot Hugo froze for a moment, turned on his heel and walked quickly away.

Turning to Tuck, Marion smiled through the veil. “And that is the end of that. You are here now, even though he does not remember your name.”

Tuck sighed and nodded his head. He tried to say a quick prayer of thanks, but was immediately overruled by his stomach growling at the smell of fresh honey. To cover it, he said, “Thank you. And from now on, you will be my little flower.”

 

>\------------->

 

Time passed quickly for Tuck. He had many duties to perform as the Abbot’s priest: masses, confessions, weddings. Tuck didn’t have much to teach Marion as she had been well-educated for a woman. But Marion had begged him to teach her more, and Tuck was happy to oblige. Spending time with his little flower was his greatest pleasure outside of his liturgical duties. He thought of Marion more as a sister than a pupil as they were fairly close in age. He would go outside, when he could, just to watch her ride. She did love horses and it showed. She was quite athletic, which was frowned upon by the Abbot. While the Abbot frowned upon such unladylike activities, Tuck had a feeling that they would be important in her future, although why this would be, he hadn’t a clue.

One day, a soldier rode in with news of the death of Sir Richard of Leaford, Marion’s father. He had been killed fighting with King Richard. Marion was devastated. The Abbot, who had never been loved himself, didn’t know what to do with the girl. Only Tuck would do. Tuck spent days letting Marion alternately cry and pound on his ample shoulders. He was quiet and prayed silently. _She needs to get through this herself. It will make her stronger in the end._ He wept with her, held her, and whispered words of comfort when he felt she needed them. Eventually, Marion threw her head up and marched into St. Mary’s great hall to speak to the Abbot. “Forgive me, my lord Abbot, for acting so childishly,” she said. “I will gather my thoughts and be obedient to you as my father would wish.” Then she turned on her heel and walked out. Tuck was very proud of her; the Abbot was stunned. The Abbot now knew that he was stuck with an orphaned girl. On the other hand, she was worth a lot of money and 400 acres of land.

Everything slipped back into its normal routine, and Tuck waited for the day when a nice young man would ask for Marion’s hand in marriage.

 

>\------------->

 

One day, Sir Guy of Gisburne rode up to the abbey with a complement of soldiers and changed everything that Tuck had planned for Marion. Gisburne had been sent by the Sheriff of Nottingham, the Abbot’s brother, with a demand. As Gisburne entered the hall, he found a large number of men eating and laughing with the Abbot.

“Well, Gisburne, what does my brother want _now_? He already _demanded_ your services!”

Gisburne blushed and felt sorry for himself as his time at the Abbey and been rather undemanding. On the other hand, he got to be a real soldier serving the Sheriff.

Hugo interrupted Guy’s thoughts. “WELL? ARE YOU GOING TO STAND THERE ALL DAY?”

Recovering himself, Gisburne spoke out in the deep voice that belied his boyish looks. “Our chaplain took ill and died, so your brother would like you to send him a new one immediately.”

“Does he now?”

“Yes, my lord Abbot, he does.”

“That was a rhetorical question, Gisburne. You always were a bit thick.”

Gisburne’s face twisted in rage, but he kept quiet, knowing better than to argue with either of the brothers (although, much to his own dismay, he occasionally blurted out his thoughts to the Sheriff without thinking).

 _Why do they always_ demand _things?_ Tuck thought. He turned to Marion and then burped. The hall had fallen into silence during this exchange, so everyone turned to look at him. Marion tried to hide a smile, but her eyes danced with delight.

Abbot Hugo was about to chastise the fat priest when a thought crossed his mind. Instead, he smiled to himself and turned to Gisburne. “As a matter of fact, I _do_ have someone for him. _Two_ someones.”

Gisburne furrowed his brow. _Two?_

“Follow me, you two,” the Abbot said, waving his hand at Tuck and Marion. “And you too, Gisburne.” Rising from his seat, the Abbot walked to his solar with three very nervous, but curious, people following him.

Knowing he couldn’t be seen, the Abbot was grinning, taking great pleasure at his thought.

 

>\------------->

 

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?” bellowed Robert de Rainault, the High Sheriff of Nottingham.

“Well…” Gisburne swallowed, looking at his feet.

“WELL…WHAT, GISSSS- _BURNE_?”

“Well, as you know, umm…”

“IF I _KNEW_ I WOULDN’T HAVE ASKED, WOULD I, YOU HALF-WIT!”

Gisburne cleared his throat and looked at Tuck and Marion standing beside him. Then he glanced at the Sheriff from the corner of his eye. “Yes. Well, you see, I went to the abbey as you instructed to obtain a chaplain and…”

The Sheriff cut him off. “AND YOU RETURNED WITH A _GIRL_ AND A FAT…A FAT…A FAT… GOD’S TEETH!” He whirled and strode toward his chair on the dais. _So, that brother of mine has dumped his orphaned ward and his gluttonous friar on me, has he?_

The Sheriff threw himself into his chair and glared at Gisburne. “Oh, never mind. I will settle this with Hugo when I get my hands on…I mean, _see_ him.

So poor Tuck and Marion moved into the castle, which was colder and more drafty than the abbey, and did their best to survive. Fortunately, no one could keep these two down for long and even the Sheriff grew used to them, especially the honey they produced from the beehives they had brought with them. However, nothing stays the same, as Tuck had learned from his childhood, and things were about to change, for better or worse, the day that the Baron Simon de Belleme rode into the courtyard of Nottingham Castle. Belleme told the Sheriff and Abbot Hugo, who was visiting his brother for another round of arguments about his lands, that he had come for the hand of Lady Marion.

Tuck and Marion had been tending to the bees when Marion was summoned to the great hall. Marion took her time, stopping to change her dress, while Tuck drummed his fingertips together. He had one of his bad feelings about what was facing them. When they reached the waiting men, the Baron asked Marion for her hand in marriage, in a roundabout way. She straightened her back, lifted her chin and glanced at Tuck for courage. Tuck was feeling frightened for Marion and more than a bit confused, but her look bolstered his courage more than it did her. She informed the Baron that marriage was impossible as she was to become a nun at Kirklees Abbey. The Baron was incensed and the three men argued about land and the Hooded Man. Finally, Marion excused herself and left, with Tuck trailing behind her.

A few days later, Tuck and Marion were sitting in the garden. Tuck was mumbling about not feeling safe in Nottingham Castle due to what he had heard about prisoners escaping the evening before and the knowledge that one of them had even run through the castle, itself. Marion turned to him with a solemn face. “Brother Tuck, I have met the Hooded Man.”

Tuck snapped out of his reverie and looked at Marion with his eyes wide open in astonishment. (Marion loved dropping enigmatic statements just to see that face. When it went blank and his eyes turned into small plates, it looked exactly like the face in the round full moon. But, this time, she didn’t take the usual enjoyment in it. Her mind was elsewhere.) “What? Ah, who?”

Tuck was dumbfounded. Just the day before, he had been cleaning the altar plate in the chapel, to calm himself after the incident with the Baron, when Marion had asked him who the Hooded Man was that the Baron had spoken of. _She must be more upset about the escape than I am. Poor little flower. And I know she was abed when it all happened._

Marion broke into Tuck’s thoughts. “He was in my bedchamber last night! I was a bit afraid. He was so handsome and soft-spoken and kind. He used my window to escape into Sherwood Forest! And--”

Tuck put his hand up to cut off her flow of words. “In your bedchamber?”

“Yes. He just came through the door, and I told Sir Guy that I was quite safe and would lock the door, but actually _he_ locked the door. Then he looked out the window and then came over to my bed…”

“Oh dear. Oh my.”

“No, no. It was nothing like that. Nothing like that at all. I covered myself completely, but he just sat at the edge of the bed near my knees.

“Oh. Oh.” Tuck looked as if he were going to faint, but Marion put her small hand under his chin and turned his face back to hers. It was calm and very earnest.

“He told me that he knew the forest and the soldiers didn’t and he would be all right. He never took his eyes off of my face. Finally, he said, ever so softly, ‘You are like a May morning’ and took my hand and kissed it. Then he went to the window and pulled up his hood. He looked at me one more time and then left!” Her words had come rushing out in a jumble of the previous evening’s events. “He was ever so…well…gentlemanly and, yet, very forward as well.” Finally, she stopped, breathed in through her nose and let out a dreamy sigh, still staring straight into Tuck’s eyes.

“Oh.” They both turned and stared into the forest. What Marion’s thoughts were, Tuck was not sure, but his own thoughts were quite clear. _May morning. Little flower. Sherwood Forest. The Hooded Man. My dear little one has fallen in love with a myth that is quite real to her. Lord, guide me. I am quite out of my depth in this affair_.”

As the remaining three weeks of the month passed, neither Tuck nor Marion spoke of the Hooded Man again. Yet, both were seen staring into the forest with odd looks on their faces, and both seemed relieved when it was time for Marion to leave for Kirklees.

Tuck hurried out the gate to where Marion was sitting on a horse next to Gisburne, who was receiving some last minute instructions from the Sheriff. From the perch of her horse, Marion looked down on her only true friend, who had tears building up in his eyes, and thought he looked like a child. She instructed him to look after the bees. Tuck knew it was her way of saying she would see him later and, although he knew that to be true, he didn’t feel that way at that moment. A fear came over him as they rode away. No, not fear. It was more like dread. He knew his little flower was going to blossom into a woman and not in the usual way.

Tuck fears were proved valid when Gisburne returned to Nottingham alone, naked and tied across the saddle. He said the outlaws had kept Marion!

However, word soon arrived that Marion was, indeed, at Kirklees.

Tuck first visited Marion at the abbey the very next day to hear her confession. She ended up telling him about the stop at the mill and how they had then been attacked by outlaws. She also described meeting the Hooded Man, who had been ever so kind once again. “He said I didn’t _look_ like a nun and he asked me to stay with him. He said it would still be May, even in winter, with a fire and furs. He even kissed me, ever so softly. I must say I almost lost my resolve at _that_ point!”

“Oh. Oh dear.”

“No, no. It wasn’t like that at all, Brother Tuck. You see, I told him all about Kirklees and how I would be safe from the Baron and that, well, it was meant to be, so please take me to the abbey. He did, straightaway, but on the journey he told me that I would be safer with him and his friends in the forest and that the high walls of Kirklees would not stop the Baron.” Marion lowered her voice and leaned into Tuck. “He helped me down from my horse at the gate, and I knew he was going to kiss me, which might have completely broken my resolve, but I shook my head and he gave me a little hug and here I am! By the way, his name is Robin.” And, for the first time during her account, Marion smiled.

Tuck’s shoulders fell. He knew they were _both_ in love. Whatever would happen now? On the way home, he mused that the outlaw would find another woman, and Marion would never forget this Robin i’ the Hood. _Poor Marion_. On subsequent visits, Tuck made sure that Robin was not mentioned again, which made Marion’s confessions quite short.

Tuck reassured Marion that, at the abbey, she was well away from any danger, but something inside told him he was only telling her what _he_ wanted to believe.

 

>\------------->

 

Time passed while the Sheriff plotted how to capture this Hooded Man. He had a plan for a contest involving a silver arrow, but Tuck was barely listening to the gossip. The contest itself proved to be a great diversion, even though it hadn’t ended well. Tuck was happy that Marion had not been there to see it!

He was walking through the courtyard when he was stopped by one of the Baron de Belleme’s men and told to tell the Sheriff that the Baron wanted to see him. A bit confused, Tuck hurried into the great hall to deliver the news. He stood listening to the men’s conversation, becoming more and more alarmed, which is what the Baron wanted. Tuck didn’t know that the Baron had his spies, especially the Saracen Nasir, or knew about as much as Tuck did of Marion and Robin’s love for each other. Tuck didn’t realize that the Baron was watching him as he slowly backed out of the room, though the Baron mentioned nothing to the others. The Baron said he could destroy this outlaw for them, but he would need Marion to do it. The de Rainault brothers agreed to this plan.

Tuck hurried through the castle and down the entrance corridor. A glint caught the corner of his eye and he paused.

_Go now! I will be with you. It is destined!_

That voice again! Tuck hadn’t heard it in a long time but had felt it was still near him. It had never led him wrong before. He moved out of the castle, across the courtyard, and slipped out the gate, glancing around to see if someone would try to stop him. No one did.

Tuck moved as quickly as he could through the forest and up to Kirklees’ gate. He told the nun who greeted him that he was there to hear the Lady Marion’s confession. The nuns were used to Tuck by now, so the sister let him in without hesitation. Tuck hurried to Marion’s room and disclosed all that he had heard. Marion said that she should have stayed in Sherwood. While Tuck was unhappy at the idea of Marion being with an outlaw, he knew that she was right.

“Robin is not what you think, Brother Tuck. He will marry and protect me.”

“But, but…”

“No. We shall go now before it is too late.”

As they moved through the forest, the birds and animals sounded louder to Tuck than they ever had before. Marion was moving forward, and Tuck was keeping up while looking everywhere around them.

_As it is foretold, they are here._

Tuck rolled his eyes. _The last thing I need now is that voice. Who is here? The out--_

Before Tuck could finish this thought, they were surrounded by the Baron’s men. Marion was frightened until she noticed Tuck lifting his robe and pulling out the sword he had picked up in the corridor on his way out of the castle in Nottingham. Tuck got a determined look on his face and starting swinging the sword. He connected with one of the Baron’s men and blood spurted out. _I wish I had my staff. I would show all them a thing or two!_ He saw Marion start to fight back as well. Then he felt a blow to his head and thought nothing else as he fell to the ground.

 

>\------------->

 

Breathing heavily at the campfire, still staring at Albion and touching the Paris Bible, Tuck muttered aloud, “Are…you…Robin in the Hood?”

Robin’s hand was on Tuck’s shoulder and his brows were knitted together in concern. “Are you all right? For I surely remember the first time you said those very words to me.” The good friar blinked and turned from Albion’s glow. The tears were real on his face. Robin squatted next to Tuck and stared straight into his eyes, “You have been staring at Albion for a long time, Tuck.”

“I have been thinking of my parents and my sister and Father Alban. Albion seems to take people places.” Tuck looked hard at Robin’s young face, still full of concern for his friend. “What was it that Herne told you about the bow?”

Robin’s eyes widened with surprise and he sucked in his lower lip. Letting it out, he said, “Stringing the bow will give it purpose.”

Tuck looked down and noticed two teardrops on the cover of his Paris Bible. Clutching it to his chest, he muttered, “That is what Father Alban said.”

Robin drew his brows together in confusion as Nasir rose to join them. Nasir had pieced together a leather bag with a drawstring. He silently handed it to Tuck. The friar smiled and took it, slipping the Paris Bible inside. Now he could tie it to his belt, if he wished, and read it whenever he was of a mind to do so. “Bless you.” Nasir inclined his head with a raised eyebrow and walked away. Shaking his head, Robin followed suit, heading back to Marion.

Tuck was smiling through new tears, remembering what Father Alban had said.

“The forest will tell you for what purpose.”

 

“A young boy stood below the rest

But rose to save the day.

As a man, he served the Lord

And Herne showed him the way, the way.

Two…Gods…showed…him…the…way.”

 

 

AFTERWORD

 

The Bible quote I used is from I Thessalonians 4:16b-17, KJV. The description of the verse is quoted from a copy of _Our Daily Bread_ from Our Daily Bread Ministries, which uses several Bible reference works. Imagine my surprise upon finding this!

The story Alan told about the Bibles is true, up to a point. The actual Paris Bibles were completed and in use by the _mid_ -1200s. Since no one knows the exact date, and since there must have been many discussions about the order of the books and chapters, plus the actual process of writing the text to see how small they could make it, I decided that, for this story, I would start the publication meetings at the turn of the century. It’s not really a great stretch of the imagination to believe that some version of the Paris Bibles (most likely not the _exact_ end result) could well have been written and possibly tossed aside in the period when this story is set (in 1201). And, perhaps, a postulant could have pocketed the discarded pages when cleaning up after the monks who were working on the project. He would then pass the discarded pages on to his old friend, Alan, who could have easily had them copied and bound. It would be good enough for poor Friar Tuck to read and pray over, and Alan, being the proud storyteller that he is, would naturally name it after the city he was raised in, rather than Bologna. And if Alan should live long enough to see the completed Paris Bible (as it is called in the history books of our time), it would just make him boast even more when he told the stories of his time spent with Robin i’ the Hood!

Miss Josh Emmett

swordsofwayland@yahoo.com

 

 

ENDWORD

 

Thank you for reading my story. Next up _Scarlet in Red_. There is more to the story than Will told his new companions at that first meeting in the Nottingham Castle dungeon, and Alan knows what that is. And, perhaps, a bit more…

 


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